Francis Scarfe

Ode In Honour - Poem by Francis Scarfe

Autoplay next video

Evening is part of the jig-saw truth of her,ply-wood ply-flesh, her insolent replyblinding the ace with a straight shot to centre,the woman's a delicate devil in twenty placesblander and blonder, tinder tenderlysetting the smiles on fire in men's faces.

On any evening gets you ready for darkswathes and saves you for the magic carpetspirits you anywhere anytime anyhowover the bridges the tunnels the hills the foothillsthe pools lakes oceans cataracts crystal floesthe mountains and fountains the antique windows of space,the deserts orchards vineyards milky ways,over pontoons and the silting tracks of moonsover the decks and the docks where the clockschime, anywhere anytime, anyhow, any fresh place.

Anywhere where winds blow and babies growwhere poor men wait for money in a rowwhere magnates buy and sell your heaven and hell,anyhow whether the storm runs over the roofor hollow tooth aches or gangrene takes the soul,anytime when the sun splutters and throws shrapnelbetween the legs of dead men and mad lovers,she will be there to hold you by the cuffto give you all her stock of luck or love.

Withtwo round lips and two round eyesand two round ears and two round palmsand two round arms and two round thighs,any child, any girl, any woman, any surprise.

Comments about Ode In Honour by Francis Scarfe

The first and last verses are conceptually genius. The inner verses, though, absolutely destroy what could have been an incredibly wonderful poem. I understand the concept of being swept off one's feet, as love or a magic carpet can do... but what is an antique window in space? Or cataract crystal floes? The reason I have never been a particularly strong fan of modern poetry is the use of such gibberish devices as these, where the author finds some intrinsic auditory/aesthetic value in non-sense words that have absolutely no meaning what so ever. And my lifelong dread has been that others find artistry in such things, yet I do not. I believe this is not artistry, but rather laziness. The king is naked, and I apparently am alone in saying that.
(Report)Reply

i loved that line too Paul and am equally as fond of the line or hollow tooth aches or gangrene takes the soul but that's just my preference. I think some of the critiques here are a little harsh and over personal. x